


On Desire

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mirror Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Desire has a wide range, from the highest objects to the lowest; desire is for an object near at hand, or near in thought, and viewed as attainable.(In which Seungcheol and Seungkwan learn to map out their desires in sticky situations.)





	1. as inclination

**Author's Note:**

> things: the boys are all the same age here, they attend my uni, and I like abusing tropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a conspicuous impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends!!!! I have no idea why I wrote this except that the format is inspired by Paul Ricoeur's The Course of Recognition, which is my………… primary text for philosophy class………… anyway, I enjoy the entanglements with semantics and meaning and what he said about the gaps between definitions as they are presented to us in dictionaries because the logic behind them lies in what is unsaid and the development of the words' usage over time. 
> 
> LOL ANYWAY it's been a long time since I last did something multi-chaptered. I hope you enjoy the ride ♡

There is a fixation on tradition—this is the precise table they must sit at, this the very same drink they must drink every first night of the semester. The drink sits in its pitcher and its gross pinkness, powder leaving a faint grit on their tongues as they sip. It promises not to be dissolved by the melting ice. Very sweet yet watered down, so they order more until the pinkness leaves a taste other than its own cloying sweetness.

Then, so the tradition goes, they wonder why their feet refuse to walk into the midnight streets, trucks blaring horns as they rush past, making the boys jump out of their skins every time.

For Seungcheol and Seungkwan, the tradition ends at their rented condo unit just a little down the street. The trucks bleed into the walls (at least they don’t rattle) but the boys fall on top of one another on the couch and sleep despite the noise.

This is their third year and fifth semester in, and it’s enough time to consider the fragility of traditions.

Seungkwan is the first to wake up and stretches his aching body. “Hey, Cheol, what time’s your first class?” he asks. Not that it matters anymore when it’s eleven o’clock and Seungkwan realises he’s missed all but his two pm class. A brief consideration of standing up only to go to his real bed. Head pounding. Clothes that stick and stink.

“Twelve-thirty,” Seungcheol groans. Unable to find a blanket, he reaches out for Seungkwan and pulls him back down to lie on top of him. “Why does my mouth taste like piss?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Seungkwan grumbles. He wrests himself away from Seungcheol’s hold and falls on the floor with a thud that makes Seungcheol slur.

“Can you stop making so much noise, fuck.”

Seungkwan gets up and pads to his bedroom, leaving Seungcheol to deal with his tardiness, and doesn’t sleep much anymore. His stomach feels both nauseous and starving, and the musk of his mouth is too uncomfortable to deal with. He can hear Seungcheol lumber around the room for his school things and the water of the sink as he brushes his teeth, footfalls heavy to remind Seungkwan of plane turbulences.

 

 

There is a piece of beautiful artwork on the wall. Beautiful, meaning Mingyu donated it to them. Artwork, meaning Mingyu made it as part of a submission for one of his classes the previous school year. He got an A, and Seungcheol and Seungkwan got compliments from their mothers (as well as from Seungcheol's many one-night stands).

It's pop art framed in a contemporary Instagram aesthetic (consider, perhaps, the tension between bright colours and an insistence on negative space, how it demands and seeks attention). It's also the nicest thing in the entire flat, and neither Seungcheol nor Seungkwan mind admitting so when Seungcheol is reminded of how many school shirts he bought so he doesn't need to think of his outfits twice and Seungkwan of the ratty princess sheets from home because his sister's are the only ones that would fit the large futon Seungkwan has in his room in lieu of a proper bed.

Last semester, Seungcheol had classes at eight in the morning every day. In his misery, he asked Seungkwan to make sure he's awake by seven-thirty at the latest. He resembles a bear when he sleeps, all bundled up and surrounded by pillows he can’t sleep without, and Seungkwan groans at the thought of having to wrestle with him so early. 

“Misery loves company,” Seungcheol reminded Seungkwan, who only scowls at him from the couch with his nursed bottle of beer. Seungcheol peered at him through his glasses, lips jutting out into a pout. “Seungkwanie…”

“Discipline is a virtue,” Seungkwan reminded him back. “If you can’t handle morning classes, don’t take them.”

“I can’t help that they scheduled my majors like this,” Seungcheol grumbled. After he finished printing out his class syllabi, he put down his laptop and his glasses and joined Seungkwan on the couch with his own bottle of beer. “Please? I’ll do anything for you.”

No one ever means “anything”. Rather, “anything” functions on the assumption that imaginations are limited (and most of all, tied to conscience). “What if I make you kill Vernon for me?” Seungkwan demanded. “Huh? Are you gonna do that?”

“Wouldn’t that be ideal?” retorted Seungcheol. “I never miss a class and you no longer have to deal with your debilitating crush on Vernon. That sounds like a good idea to me.”

Seungkwan blushed a fierce red and instead drowned his reply with beer. After, he groused, “You'd like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

 

This is a routine, not a tradition: chicken of some sort for dinner, either rotisserie chicken gained from the nearby supermarket or a bucket of fried chicken from the local KFC, then an hour or so of lying together on Seungcheol’s bed to watch videos of babies falling over. Afterwards, Seungkwan reminds them both about their homework, so they reluctantly strive to get it done (or, in Seungcheol’s case some nights, he groans and falls back into his bed, unable to wake up until the following morning).

Tonight, Seungkwan stops Seungcheol from getting up and fetching his laptop from his bedroom with a question: “Hey,” Seungkwan starts, “did I…?”

“What?”

“Did I do any stupid shit last night?”

“You mean like volunteer to give Vernon a lap dance?” Seungcheol snorts. He takes their dishes to the kitchen sink and throws the bones into the trash. From there, he continues, “You didn’t, by the way, so you can stop looking fucking horrified.”

“Shut the fuck—Are you sure?”

Seungcheol returns to their study/dining/project table with knitted brows. “Not really… Huh, I can't remember what happened after Mingyu made out with Soonyoung on a dare.”

“Fuck, I can’t even remember that,” Seungkwan groans as he sinks further back into his seat.

“If it helps, I would’ve taken photos if you did,” Seungcheol offers with a grin. “Anything stupid, I mean.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seungkwan complains after sticking his tongue out at Seungcheol. “Like, you want me to make an ass out of myself.”

“Uh, no. False. Try again.”

“Oh, wow, you’re being magnanimous for once?” Seungkwan huffs. “Shut the fuck up, Seungcheol Choi.”

“How about you stop being all defensive whenever his name gets brought up?” Seungcheol counters. “It’s been two years now, come on. I think you should tell him.”

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. “No offence,” he begins, “but I’d rather die.”

At that, Seungcheol stands up to fetch two beers from the fridge and hands one down to Seungkwan, who only diverts his gaze to the can sweating condensation, and asks him, “And why is telling him so difficult?” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that deep.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not in the mood for deep.”

“I’m just…” Seungkwan traces the lip of the can with a finger and chews on his bottom lip while Seungcheol sips on his own and makes a face because of how bitter it is compared to last night’s intensely sweet alcoholic slush. “I don’t know, okay? I’m afraid he won’t like me back—or worse, he could hate me forever and it would be awkward. Then I’d be as good as dead, so I should just die.”

Seungcheol stares. Seungkwan chugs his beer and lays down the can, fiddling with the tab until it comes off with a pop. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like if Vernon liked you back?” Seungcheol asks.

Seungkwan scoffs, “Don’t be silly.”

“You could be kissing and having sex with someone you like,” Seungcheol offers, “instead of this fucked up celibacy shit you have going on.” He says that with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Right?”

Unbidden, a smile makes its way across Seungkwan’s face and the rest of him blushes. “Right,” Seungkwan says weakly. “But fuck you about my sexual habits.”

“You’re not even together, so I don’t understand why you won't fuck other people. Or what? It _has_ to be with him?”

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” Seungkwan admits. “Remember that party where Josh pre-gamed with tequila?” Josh had the most masterful vomiting scene and Junhui was gracious enough to carry him on his back all the way to where he parked his car. “There was a guy, but that was it.” He forgot his name (and shamefully admits that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t bother enough to take note of it in the first place) but he remembers him complaining about accounting class and that alone made Seungkwan regret.

“That was two semesters ago.”

The reminder makes Seungkwan wrinkle his nose. “Like I said, I tried. Most guys are just”—he makes a face—“fucking nasty. Or boring. Or both.”

Seungcheol sits up straight. “How about me?” he asks.

Seungkwan gives him a once-over then raises his brow. “What about you? Like, if you’re nasty or boring?”

“What if I offered to have sex with you?” Seungcheol says. “Or will that make me nasty?”

“Well.” Seungkwan clears his throat while Seungcheol sips his beer. “I wouldn’t… say no…” There is a reading for his philosophy class tomorrow morning that he needs to get out of the way. Seungcheol has statistics notes he says he has to go over so he can start on the ten percent of his final grade (“Ten percent is a life-changer,” Seungcheol argues. “Perfecting it can make my D into a C.”).

That is to say, fucking seems to be out of the equation entirely.

“Do _you_ even want to have sex with me?” Seungkwan asks then. “Seriously.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Seungcheol answers. “Besides, Soonyoung and I fucked before, remember?”

“Uh, no, I don’t remember.” Seungkwan tries not to think about the mechanics of it and where exactly Seungcheol’s arms were placed along Soonyoung’s body. “If you never told me, then it means it’s as shameful as it is.” Before Seungcheol could argue, Seungkwan asks, “Will the offer still stand if I don’t say yes today?”

Seungcheol mulls it over the last drops of beer in his can. Once he’s finished, he answers,“Yes.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Right, so in the _De Anima_ , Aristotle aims to discuss the thinghood of the soul,” Seungkwan’s philosophy teacher begins after attendance and the usual housekeeping, reminders of submissions and the like, a pop quiz concerning how well they’ve read the reading. “But why does he want to discuss its thinghood? And what do we mean by thinghood?”

“Beats me,” Chan grumbles under his breath beside Seungkwan. On Seungkwan’s right, Seokmin stirs and raises his hand tentatively.

“Aristotle claims that in the soul is the essence of all other things,” Seokmin answers. “So, uh, to understand why things are things, we have to understand… the soul… of it first?”

Chan leans across Seungkwan’s table to whisper to Seokmin, “We’re gonna be group mates, okay? You, me, and Kwannie.”

“We need a fourth,” Seungkwan cuts in. He cranes his neck to look for another familiar face in class but finds no one except some guy from his English class in first year. “Fuck, whatever, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there. Anyway—” The words aren’t lacking, only inappropriate—Seungkwan has no idea how to ask them what they think about a roommate proposing casual sex. “Seungcheol… He…”

“He what?” Seokmin prompts, dropping his voice to the barest of whispers. He leans in slightly to Seungkwan’s side yet keeps three-quarters of his face to the front.

“It’s fucking weird. Did you know he and Soonyoung had sex?”

“Yes,” Chan says the same time time Seokmin answers, “No.”

“Holy shit?”

“It’s weird _you_ didn’t know,” Chan points out to Seungkwan, “since they fucked on Seungcheol’s bed.”

“When we discuss thinghood, it is important to note the four causes. There is the formal, which—by the word itself—concerns the form of the thing. Think of how we perceive a bed, for instance. There is no way we could all conceive the exact same bed in our minds, but all of the beds that we think of share similar forms. They have frames…”

 

 

Point of the matter is, Seungcheol seems capable of compartmentalising. Seungkwan drags him into his room and seats him down on the futon. Seungcheol’s legs stick out, and there went Seungkwan’s grand idea of sitting on his lap. Instead, Seungkwan takes off his shirt, the slightly thicker one to see him through lab sessions, and kneels on the futon beside Seungcheol.

“You’re okay with this, right?” Seungkwan asks.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says. He lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it towards the locked door as if to prove a point. Then, the button of his jeans. “ _You’re_ okay with this, right?” he then counters with a raised eyebrow at Seungkwan.

“Yeah.” Seungkwan closes the distance between them by placing his fingers on the back of Seungcheol’s head and leaning in.

Two important things to note of this scene: 1) Seungcheol wraps his arms around Seungkwan’s body; Seungkwan enjoys the fullness of them on him and the weight and warmth of Seungcheol’s entire body when Seungcheol sets him down on the futon, and 2) the kisses can pass for loving, can pass for tender, can pass for sincere; Seungkwan melts into them with the earnest surprise in realising that much time had passed since the first.

Seungcheol cups Seungkwan’s face and smiles at him from above. “That wasn’t too bad, right?” he teases. Seungkwan rolls his eyes and pulls him back down, flicking his tongue gently into Seungcheol’s mouth.

The room goes quiet again, save for the rustle of Seungcheol’s hair when Seungkwan runs his fingers through it and for the gasps Seungkwan makes when Seungcheol lowers his mouth to nip along Seungkwan’s jawline, moving back up to kiss Seungkwan as his thumb brushes over Seungkwan’s nipple. Seungkwan keens and whimpers into Seungcheol’s mouth, arching his body up to meet Seungcheol’s, whose warmth is searing on Seungkwan’s skin.

Gently, Seungcheol sets him back down, hands steady on each side as he tongues his way down Seungkwan’s torso. When he reaches Seungkwan’s tummy, the licks turn to kisses then the kisses into nips, each smoothed out by the flat of his tongue.

Seungkwan squirms, grip on Seungcheol’s hair tight. “The fuck,” he lets out.

“You don’t like it?” Seungcheol asks. There’s no frown in his voice, only a vague customer service-y note.

“I… like it. A lot,” Seungkwan admits. He can feel Seungcheol smile, teeth slightly cold and lips very warm.

“Are you thinking about him?”

“Are you okay with that?”

Seungcheol rests himself between Seungkwan’s legs and looks up at him, even if that means to let go of the fingers already tucked into the waistband of Seungkwan’s jeans, ready to pull down. “You’re really not good at the whole fuck buddy situation, are you?”

“It’s just…” Seungkwan makes a face. “It’s just rude,” he says, “that’s what it is.”

“To be clear, you’re well within your right to pretend I’m him,” Seungcheol tells him. “It’s easy, Kwannie. Just close your eyes.” 

Seungkwan pouts, but when Seungcheol kisses his stomach again, he does close his eyes and strokes Seungcheol’s hair gently. Jeans lowered past his thighs and dragged over his ankles, tossed to the floor beside them. Hands cradling his thighs. Footsteps to the cabinet then back. More clothes tossed to the floor. 

Fingers slick with lube circling his entrance.

He gets kissed just as the first finger pushes in, but his mouth falls slack into a gasp, all his focus on his hips grinding into the finger inside him. Fingers in his hair, tracing the shell of his ear. Openmouthed kisses on his cheek.

“More,” Seungkwan groans. He reaches for the body on top of him and pulls him in tighter. There will be crescent marks dotting the skin later, perhaps rakes of red where Seungkwan’s fingers just _dig_.

With the second finger in, Seungkwan hisses. He grabs the arm caging him and holds on as if he’s drowning. It’s been too long, and touch is thrilling.

The hand goes slowly and gently, strokes instead of fucks. There is a mouth latched onto Seungkwan’s neck that sucks instead of nips. The sharp pain of blood rushing to Seungkwan’s dermis makes Seungkwan groan instead of gasp, and he gets nipped on some more along the side of his neck, tongue rough as it tries to soothe the tender skin. Kisses on the way down his body, fingers curling into Seungkwan’s hipbone.

Seungkwan’s legs fall open, lax. His breath comes in slow, deep motions of his chest. There is a crown of black hair between his legs, a third finger in, and lips tracing the soft inner parts of his thigh. The tiny nips make Seungkwan jolt in his place and his fingers twist into his blanket for purchase.

“ _Please_ ,” Seungkwan whines. He finds the hand curled on top of his thigh and clenches it tightly.

Before he realises, his face is pressed into his pillow and he’s left kneeling, ass jutting out. The foil of the condom packet crinkles as it’s being opened then eventually discarded of. The weight of the body settles on top of Seungkwan, one hand splayed flat on his back and the other guiding the tip of his cock to Seungkwan’s entrance.

Seungkwan lets out a whimper, and it gets lost in the pillow, gets muffled and muted. Lips, nipping on the nape of his neck. Fingers, clutching his hip and keeping him spread open. He grinds back and reaches a hand down to touch himself, making himself keen. Kisses, trailing along the shell of his ear. Fingers, now in Seungkwan’s hair, pulling his head back to expose the working column of his throat.

He strokes himself faster, thumb rubbing circles around the head. The bites along his shoulder blades make his toes curl, his fingertips cold. “ _God_ ,” he whines, entire body trembling as he comes. His knees quiver, but the hands on him keep him steady. The fucks get faster, noisier.

Eventually, they stutter to a stop. In Seungkwan’s ear, a deep, rumbling whine. Arms wrap themselves around him as if to hug, as if to caress, gripping not squeezing. Gentle, openmouthed kisses laced with deep and heavy breaths.

Seungkwan gets laid flat on his back, blinking at the ceiling. Seungcheol stands up to deposit the used condom in the trash bin then sits on the futon by Seungkwan’s feet.

“So?” Seungcheol prompts.

“What?” Seungkwan counters. His heart is pounding, making his face blush something fierce. A pounding heart, meaning disappointment.

Seungcheol’s lips, however, are wonderfully swollen and pink between his teeth.

“Come here,” Seungkwan says, making grabby hands at Seungcheol, who blinks yet crosses over to Seungkwan anyway. “We should make rules.”

“Rules?”

“Like… no condom, no sex,” Seungkwan explains. “Stuff like that.”

“You don’t trust me to be clean?”

“You’ve been inside Soonyoung, so… no.”

Seungcheol scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine with anything,” he offers. “Just not water sports.”

“What the hell is that?”

“You know… piss kink.”

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose at the thought. “I don’t like swallowing,” he says.

“Why?”

“It feels nasty, that’s why. But I would if you want me to… Swallow, I mean.”

Seungcheol nods and hums. “I feel like there’s a caveat somewhere there,” he says slowly.

“No caveat. Unless kissing is a caveat.” Before Seungcheol could say anything, Seungkwan sputters out, “I just really like kissing, okay? Most days I’d rather make out than fuck.” He hits Seungcheol as he rolls his eyes. “I’m fucking serious.”

“You know what? That’s fine. That’s more than fine, to be honest. You can make out with me or ask me to fuck you any time as long as I’m free,” Seungcheol tells him.

“Does it have to go the other way around, too?” Seungkwan asks.

“Kwannie,” Seungcheol sighs, “I’m not your boyfriend.” When Seungkwan remains quiet, Seungcheol then asks, “Does that bother you?”

“It shouldn’t,” Seungkwan admits, eyes still trained on Seungcheol’s mouth. (He wants to kiss it, he really does, and the realisation of that fact is met with horror.)

“Do you want to, like, hug or some shit?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, scoot over,” Seungcheol says. Seungkwan drags the blanket out of the bed and gets a fresh one from the closet, draping it over both their bodies. Seungcheol is searing when he envelops Seungkwan in his arms, and Seungkwan feels suffocated by the crook of Seungcheol’s neck, but he lays his head there anyway until Seungcheol says he has to do work and Seungkwan has to reluctantly let go.

 

 

There is a line of purple across Seungkwan’s collarbones, deep spots on his throat, and if he turns his head, there will definitely be more peppered across the nape of his neck. He groans as he examines the bruises in the mirror after a shower then walks into Seungcheol’s room, dripping wet and naked, to kick him awake.

“What the fuck is this?” Seungkwan demanded.

Seungcheol looks blearily at him, eyes widening when he finally understands what he’s looking. “Oh, holy shit.”

“You fucking think?”

“I didn’t know you bruise so easily, fuck.”

Seungkwan storms out and comes back some minutes later, fully dressed and concealed. “Thank fuck Eunwoo lives here, too.”

“Are you mad at me?” Seungcheol asks with a pout.

“I forgot to tell you no hickeys,” Seungkwan says, “so it’s my fault.”

“Why don’t you want hickeys?”

“They’ll ask.”

“You don’t have to say it’s from me,” Seungcheol tells him.

“Come on, Cheol,” Seungkwan whines, “they know I don’t just fuck anybody.”

“Then say it’s from me,” Seungcheol says with a shrug, digging further into his bed. “I really don’t care.”

“You should.”

“I’m literally here just doing you a fucking favour,” Seungcheol grumbles. “We could just leave it at that if you’re so worried, right?” At Seungkwan’s twist of his mouth, he presses on. “Or do you want to keep going?”

Seungkwan bites out, “I want to, but no hickeys, still. I don’t want to wake up early just to cover them up.”

“Done,” Seungcheol says simply. “Hey, I know you’re worried, but don’t think so much about it, okay? So what if they ask? And so what if they find out?”

“I just don’t want Vernon to find out.”

“He won’t. I’ll make sure.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I did that, though,” Seungcheol apologises as he gestures at Seungkwan’s throat. The purple is still showing through slightly, enough to be noticeable if one would only stop to look at him for more than five seconds. 

Seungkwan waves it off, though still hoping in his mind that his sweat won’t wipe most of it away later. “It’s fine.”

“You have to admit, that was fucking impressive,” Seungcheol notes with a grin. “Can I take a picture of it when you get home later?”

“ _Bye_ , Cheol.”

“Don’t forget to ice it!” Seungcheol calls from his bedroom after Seungkwan walks out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a 2seung gc for anyone interested!!! sign-ups are [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1mSrAYWFOicLszZ28O2kq6Kgv0wATF39Mj8i3z2LtuH4) ♡ #shamelessplug


	2. as longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an earnest wishing for something; it is to long for, crave, yearn for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow my pieces just keep getting shorter and shorter lol

“I don’t get this,” Jihoon complains. With a slap, he set his readings down then leans back into his seat. “Hey, Josh, you went to Catholic school, right?”

“Dude, we’re going to a Catholic school right now,” Joshua says.

“I just meant to ask if you understand what ‘moral infallibility’ means. I don’t get it.”

Joshua nods, eyebrows knitting together. “Oh. Look, in high school, they told us that the Bible isn’t wrong. Even when it said the earth balanced on top of a turtle, it wasn’t wrong,” he answers. “So my teacher told us some shit about how science explained how the world was created, history told us when, and the Bible told us why.”

“And your teacher believed that?” Wonwoo asks. “Doesn’t it sound shady?”

“No way, my teacher told me that, too,” Minghao cuts in. He’s finally looking up from his 3DS, which kept him occupied while the others tried a group study session in preparation for Friday’s regularly scheduled theology quiz. “But she also conceded that the Bible could be wrong because it’s written by people, not God, so whatever.” 

“Yeah, the important thing is that the message of God is kept intact,” Joshua explains. “So… that’s kind of the point of moral infallibility. One _can_ be objectively wrong, but someone who follows their conscience wouldn’t be morally wrong because they’re doing their best.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his arms rather tight in the shirt he’s wearing. (Now that Seungkwan’s looking at it, he thinks it might be one of his, one of those that are long forgotten in the mess that their place becomes in the middle of the semester.) “That’s fucking stupid, Josh,” Seungcheol argues. “What if I kill you because I’m following my conscience? Does that mean I’m morally right?”

Wonwoo tamps out his cigarette then plucks another one from his pack, passing one on to Minghao, who had whispered to him for one. “No offence, but if your conscience is telling you that, then you have a fucked up conscience,” Wonwoo deadpans.

“See you in hell?” Jeonghan teases Seungcheol with a grin. “Cheollie, I had no idea you’re so wonderfully dark.”

“I’m not,” Seungcheol shoots down. “I just don’t believe in that shit. Morality is subjective.”

“I think that there are some things that just work for everybody, though?” Joshua says. “Killing is wrong, no matter how you slice it. Rape, stealing—”

“What about Robin Hood?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Cheol, the Robin Hood argument is so basic,” he whines. “There’s, like, the fundamental good. Shit you shouldn’t do, right? Shit you don’t have to think about because your natural instinct is to be averse to it.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol concedes. “Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does the objectivity end there? Are the rest of our values subjective?”

“It’s more like… we all have this good that we desire, but we cannot know it fully yet because our circumstances make what should be an objective good kind of… muddled,” Joshua says. “I mean, this entire thing about moral infallibility depends on us having the sincerity to find out what that good is even when it becomes difficult. This means, you know… that we’re innately good, essentially.”

“Duh, it’s theology class,” Jihoon says. “Well, I think I get it now. Kind of.”

“It’s a load of bullshit,” Minghao states. “It’s an easy way out of being a shitty person. ‘Oh, I’m not acting in bad faith because I’m following my conscience.’ Fuck that.”

“But that means you don’t have a conscience,” Wonwoo counters, “because you aren’t holding yourself accountable to your actions, especially when you know it has bad consequences.”

“Wow,” Jeonghan breathes, impressed. “So does feeling bad when I never call a guy back make me a conscientious person?”

Wonwoo turns to face Jeonghan and asks, “Does it make you call the next guy back?”

“Not really…”

“Then, no, sorry, you’re still a dick.”

 

 

“Hey, I’m looking—sorry, sir—for Minkyung?” a boy with a rose says. It crinkles in his hand and crinkles in her hand when Minkyung stands up and takes it from him. “Have a nice day!”

“You, too,” she replies. She has a soft smile when she reads the card and presses the rose to her nose.

“Who’s it from?” Vernon whispers to her, leaning across Seungkwan to do so, and Seungkwan can smell the shampoo he used that morning, can see the lengths of his eyelashes.

Minkyung hands him the card silently, and Seungkwan leans into Vernon’s side to read the card.

“That’s cute,” Vernon says. “Are you doing something for Kyungwon?”

“What do you think I should do?” Minkyung asks. “I’m really not good at the whole being romantic thing.”

“Seungkwanie should know,” Vernon says, and the scrutiny makes Seungkwan falter.

“Did she ever tell you what she thought was romantic?” Seungkwan offers. “Uhm… Like, Eunwoo was telling me that she always wanted someone who would treat her to a hotel dinner buffet.”

Vernon laughs. “That isn’t romantic.”

“Maybe not to you,” Seungkwan counters.

“I like nights in,” Vernon says. “We’d just stay in, stream a few movies?”

“What kind?” Minkyung prompts.

“It’s good if it’s something she liked that I’ve never seen before or vice-versa. Or something you both wanted to watch,” Vernon answers. (Seungkwan wants his gaze to betray _I’m here; I can do these things for you,_ with _you_ , but only the blackboard, with its screen down to project slides, knows.) “I mean, the important thing is that you spend time together, right?”

Minkyung breaks out into a grin, her fingers drumming on top of her notebook, and she hums. “Plus, that means she has to get all snuggly with me,” she says conspiratorially. “I think she’ll like that.”

“See? You got the point.”

Seungkwan sticks his tongue out and says, “Cheol and I already do that. Doesn’t mean we’re dating.” Before either Minkyung or Vernon could say anything, their professor begins the class, and the room settles down into silence.

 

 

Seungcheol has a girl home (Seungkwan finds her shoes by the door and the rose on the table next to Seungcheol’s closed laptop, the door to Seungcheol’s room closed and locked). As Seungkwan pops open a canned coffee and settles down in the couch with his readings, he considers asking Seungcheol if he could meet his other fucks outside their home.

It’s shallow and immature. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose and gets to reading. Maybe Seungcheol’s essence is in his fucking. Maybe his desire for touch sets him in motion.

Should the question ever arise in his philosophy oral exam, Seungkwan can only say: hopefully what defines his roommate is not the fucking, because should it be gone and replaced by something else, he would still be Seungcheol Choi. Seungcheol Choi realises he’s Seungcheol Choi through the absence of things he previously thought made him Seungcheol Choi.

It’s a terrible illustration.

Seungcheol comes out in his underwear and stops when he sees Seungkwan. “Oh, I didn’t know you’re home.”

“It’s not like you could’ve heard me,” Seungkwan says drily. “Is it…?”

“Nayoung,” Seungcheol answers. “Minkyung’s roommate.”

“Yes,” Seungkwan replies with a roll of his eyes, “I know her.”

Nayoung appears from the doorway, then—fully clothed and hair tied up into a messy pile on top of her head. “Kwannie!” she greets. She takes the space beside Seungkwan on the couch and taps his shoulder. “Minkyung wants to ask you for movie recs.”

“ _Before Sunrise_ is nice,” Seungcheol cuts in.

“Funny, I was about to say _Before Sunrise_ , too,” Seungkwan says. “I mean, it’s boring if dialogue isn’t your thing.”

“Really? I liked the dialogue,” Seungcheol says.

“I liked it, too. We watched it together, remember?” Seungkwan tells him before returning his attention to Nayoung. “There’s also… You know, Audrey Hepburn movies are _great_. I liked _Roman Holiday_.”

“ _Her_.”

“No, no, no, not _Her_. _The Grand Budapest Hotel_. Who wants to watch some guy have sex with his Siri?”

Nayoung’s eyes flicker between Seungcheol and Seungkwan before she opens her mouth to ask, “What about rom-coms?”

“John Hughes,” Seungcheol and Seungkwan say, unanimously and without hesitation. It makes them all laugh. Nayoung thumbs their suggestions down in an SMS that she sends to Minkyung.

“Thanks, guys,” Nayoung says. Seungcheol offers her dinner. Dinner, meaning permanence, meaning stay? Nayoung, unfortunately, declines.

Once she’s gone, Seungcheol takes her place on the couch, plate of microwaved food in hand, fork perched on his fingers.

“You like her?” Seungkwan asks.

“Who, Nayoung?” Seungcheol answers with his mouth full. “Yeah, she’s nice.”

“No, I mean—”

“Oh, you mean if I _like_ like her, like you do Vernon?” Seungcheol mimics the frown on Seungkwan’s face then says, “I wish.”

“What do you mean ‘I wish’?” The process of self-actualisation?

“It’ll be easier, I guess. We’re good friends, but…” Seungcheol spears a bit of fish cake with the fork and feeds it to Seungkwan. “Good, right? Bought it from a Chinese grocery. Anyway, next to you, she’s the closest friend I have. I… feel like I could like her.”

Seungkwan prompts, “But?”

“But… I don’t have that kind of feeling,” Seungcheol admits with his brows knitted together. “Why the fuck are you interrogating me? Is it because of the rose?”

“Well, yeah.”

Seungcheol scoffs and rolls his eyes. “She asked me to. Maybe you can try that.”

“I’ll look desperate.”

“Desperate people get shit done,” Seungcheol says lightly as he licks his fingers. He gets up and places the plate in the sink and comes back to the couch with a can of cold coffee, toes poking at Seungkwan’s calves while Seungkwan tries to go back to his readings (Aristotle took too long to arrive at his main point; Seungkwan’s gotten entirely lost in the flow of his argument). Seungcheol calls him back to the conversation with: “So what’s wrong with looking desperate?”

“It’s precisely that,” Seungkwan says matter-of-factly as he highlights a sentence on the page. “I made him do something he wouldn’t have done for me if I hadn’t asked.”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“He’s… Remember what happened with his ex? She kept getting mad at him because he wouldn’t do the romantic shit that she likes, and it wasn’t because he didn’t love her, but because he thought it was unnecessary. Then he said—”

“He’d have done them if he knew she liked them, right? Fucking dumbass. Everyone wants the romantic shit.”

“I know you do,” Seungcheol tells him. “And he does, too.”

“Fuck you,” Seungkwan grumbles at the sight of Seungcheol’s grin, tries to swat him away when Seungcheol comes dangerously close to him to place the empty can of coffee on the table beside the couch but instead pulls him for a kiss, so Seungcheol doesn’t see how Seungkwan’s face had started to redden from the thought of Vernon giving him a rose in August.

 

 

“Fuck,” Seungkwan gasps. “Faster.” He can see himself on the full body mirror Seungcheol has stuck to his closet door. The redness in his face. The sweat slicking his hair down. He could look worse than being on top of Seungcheol, riding him as fast as his thighs would allow.

“Go fuck a power drill,” Seungcheol gripes, but he wraps his arms around Seungkwan’s waist and pulls him in closer, fucks him a little bit harder. Seungkwan tugs at Seungcheol’s hair and grits his teeth, breath ghosting over Seungcheol’s mouth. Seungcheol catches him staring and demands, “What?”

“Slow down,” Seungkwan says, at which Seungcheol rolls his eyes.

“Yes, princess.” He slows down anyway, down to a steady grind that leaves Seungkwan squirming. Seungkwan kisses him slowly, hands on either side cupping Seungcheol’s cheeks. A quick glance at the mirror: a thick arm slung over Seungkwan’s back, blankets in danger of falling over the precipice.

Seungkwan closes his eyes again and kisses Seungcheol before his mouth becomes too slack from fucking to even gasp.

 

 

“Please ram my ass a bit harder next time,” Seungkwan says drily before he collapses beside Seungcheol on the bed. “I can’t think anymore, Jesus fuck.”

“Thanks,” Seungcheol says with a smug smile on his face that Seungkwan sticks his tongue out at. “So what’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep initiating sex with me like something possessed you,” Seungcheol deadpans. At the look Seungkwan gives him, he amends, “You just seem… restless.”

“Restless,” Seungkwan echoes.

“Restless.”

Seungkwan’s eyebrows knit together, and he says, “Yeah, maybe I _am_ restless,” slowly, as if admissions feel foreign in his mouth. The way he’s breathing, chest visibly going up and down, is a little too loud for comfort. “I don’t know what to say… I’m sorry? For… treating you like a sex machine…”

The apology makes Seungcheol snort and burst out laughing—he clutches his stomach in a fit of theatrics and turns on his side to face Seungkwan. “Can I tell you that you’re cute?” he says.

“No,” Seungkwan shoots down.

“You are, though. You’re precious.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Seungkwan whines.

“Are you conscious of me, Seungkwanie?” Seungcheol teases. “Really? After all we’ve done? I even li—”

“You’re the last person I’m conscious of,” Seungkwan cuts him off, face aching from his grimace, muscles threatening to slip off. (In retrospect, Seungkwan was probably most conscious of Seungcheol and the heat of his body when it was pressed on top of Seungkwan’s.)

Seungcheol smiles. “Really,” he says.

“Yes, really.”

“Aww, you _are_ cute,” Seungcheol coos. He reaches for Seungkwan’s cheeks and tries to pinch them, but Seungkwan resists, clawing at Seungcheol until he ends up on top of Seungcheol, breathless and gasping.

“Fuck… you…” Seungkwan splutters while Seungcheol smiles serenely at him from below.

“Did you want to?” Seungcheol answers. “We can do that.”

At that, Seungkwan frowns. “You should’ve told me that _before_ we started,” he says. “I’m too tired now.” He rolls off of Seungcheol then considers sleep. It’s a Friday evening, maybe a little too early for sleep if either of them were in the right state. Seungcheol pulls the blanket over their bodies as if he were considering the exact same thing and yawns.

“Now that you mentioned it… Get off my bed.”

“Fuck you,” Seungkwan grouses.

“I was just kidding. You can sleep here if you want.”

Seungkwan burrows further into the blanket to cope with how he wants to kiss Seungcheol’s awful, annoying grin off his face. “Thanks for the magnanimity,” he says then drifts off but not before he could hear Seungcheol scoff and laugh.

 

 

Seungcheol is holding on to Seungkwan in his sleep, arm wrapped around his torso, thumb brushing Seungkwan’s hipbone. His eyelashes flutter over his cheekbones, dense and thick, almost doll-like and gentle. To make a remark on his gentle breathing is to make a remark on how everyone sleeps just as peacefully. Seungkwan notes it down nonetheless, just as he notes how slim his fingers look against Seungcheol’s bicep.

The slight touch has Seungcheol opening one eye then smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. Seungkwan feels expected; it makes him reach out and kiss Seungcheol, bury his fingers in Seungcheol’s hair. (Back to Seungkwan’s consciousness of Seungcheol: Seungkwan is conscious of how he isn’t conscious of morning breath.)

Seungcheol kisses back lazily, like he doesn’t want to think about it, and in the haze of what is probably around seven or eight on a Saturday morning, those kisses are what feel fitting precisely because of their lack of thought. Seungkwan presses himself tighter against Seungcheol and feels him smile against his mouth.

His hand trails down to the back of Seungcheol’s neck and curls around it, short hairs ticking his palm. Seungcheol pulls away to catch his breath, lets out a hint of laughter, then comes back, his lashes flickering against Seungkwan’s cheek as he kisses Seungkwan slow and now with forethought as he wakes up into this unfolding scene.

Seungkwan squeaks when Seungcheol wraps both arms around him before sinking right into them. “We should…”

“Hm?” Seungcheol hums against Seungkwan’s jawline.

“Talk… about this…”

“We keep talking,” Seungcheol murmurs in protest. “Just enjoy this.” He notices how Seungkwan keeps his lips shut this time, mouth a thin line, and sighs. “Did I break the magic?”

Seungkwan’s eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean ‘magic’?”

“Did you suddenly realise you were being delusional?” Seungcheol answers as he lets go of Seungkwan so he can sit up. Seungkwan follows suit and covers his torso with the blanket, wishing he could cover his face as well.

“I know it’s you,” Seungkwan bites. “I just find this too… married couple-y.”

“Wow,” Seungcheol breathes. It gives way to laughter. “That’s really cute.”

Seungkwan wants to bury his face in his hands, but Seungcheol reaches out to pinch Seungkwan’s cheek before Seungkwan could hide. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“You’re not cut out for platonic sex, are you?” Seungcheol muses. “You feel like you can’t compartmentalise once it becomes tender.” When Seungkwan doesn’t say anything—and Seungkwan feels like he can’t because of his grimace—Seungcheol adds, “Tender is what you want, though. Right? You don’t come and go.”

Seungkwan bursts into nervous laughter. “‘Come and go’,” he repeats. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah, this is my grand synthesis, so you can laugh at me if you think I got it wrong,” Seungcheol says. “I’m sure you’re aware of it, too.”

It’s eight in the morning, but Seungkwan feels like he needs a drink. Or twenty. “This was a mistake,” he then says, a little hurriedly once the thought’s crossed his mind. Seungcheol frowns. “All of it. It’s fucking with my head, and you don’t even like me—”

“I do,” Seungcheol admits quietly. “I think I just realised it now.”

“ _What_?” Seungkwan bites out. “Say that again.”

“That I like you? So what if I do?”

_You weren’t supposed to_ , Seungkwan wanted to wail, this close to crying. Instead, he shakes his head. “Why?” he asks.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter, Kwannie. Not in the nihilistic way where nothing matters, but just—it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Excuse me, it _does_ matter to me—”

“I’m not doing anything about it, that’s why it doesn’t matter.”

The bedsheets have dried come on them as well as Nayoung’s sweat (and it only occurred to Seungkwan right then that the gap between him and Nayoung on Seungcheol’s bed was a little less than four hours). Seungcheol has marks beneath his collarbones where Seungkwan dug his thumbs in. A bright Saturday sun. A confession. Seungkwan wants to go back to sleep, so he suggests just that.

“Hey, no,” Seungcheol protests. “You can’t say we should talk then fucking ditch like that.”

“ _You’re_ the one who said _I_ can’t compartmentalise.”

“Yeah, it’s true, you really fucking can’t.”

“And it turns out neither can you.”

Seungcheol turns red for the first time since Seungkwan met him, the flush going all the way down his neck, and he briefly ducks his head down. “So we shouldn’t?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, though a part of him feels melancholy, “we shouldn’t.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Following your conscience doesn’t come cheap,” Junhui states matter-of-factly as he takes the blunt from Joshua's fingers to smoke up himself.

Seungkwan stares at him with his brownie left largely uneaten save for one big bite he took after Soonyoung welcomed him in his room and shoved it in his hand.

In all honesty, he's waiting for it to kick in. Maybe he should have another bite, or three, but the brownie itself wasn’t particularly spectacular. Seungcheol got up from the bed right after the resolution and made himself and Seungkwan breakfast, so Seungkwan ate his eggs with a lot of prodding of his fork. They were at the dining table, and Seungcheol was a little sheepish, poured milk into Seungkwan’s orange juice instead of his coffee.

“He’s such a dumbass,” Seungkwan says aloud. Hopefully the sentiment trickles down to the seventh floor, where he and Seungcheol live.

“Who is?” Joshua asks.

“Cheol.”

“Oh. Yeah, he is.”

“But why do you think so?” Soonyoung asks. Seungkwan’s face heats up and he clears his throat.

“He just is.”

“Idiots are great,” Junhui sighs wistfully, his fingers dangling off the edge of the bed and grazing the floor. “You feel like you’re so smart when you’re talking to them. It’s… a huge ego boost.”

“Is this why you keep talking to Mingyu?” Joshua pipes up.

“No, no, no, no, no. Mingyu is the greatest guy alive,” Junhui says. “I feel so appreciated when I’m with him. Unlike when I talk to the three of you.”

“I appreciate you,” Joshua says with a wrinkle of his nose.

Junhui turns over to his back so he can preen and smile up at Joshua. “I know,” he coos. “I didn’t mean you, of course.”

Soonyoung shrugs at the jab then turns back to face Seungkwan. “Did you fight with Cheol or something, Kwannie? I know you guys rarely fight, but it’s normal. Junhui and I fight all the fucking time.”

Seungkwan steals a look at Josh, who remained on the bed with Junhui’s head on his lap, lazily picking at the hairs while Junhui enjoys himself, eyes closed. “You don’t fight with Josh?”

“Josh doesn’t fight. He internalises it then breaks down later when he’s drunk,” Junhui offers. Joshua nods.

“Cheol doesn’t fight,” Seungkwan says slowly. “He’s like Josh with the internalising thing, but scarier.”

“You’re scared of Cheol?”

“Excuse me, he used to be on the taekwondo team. He can chokeslam me if he wants to.” Which could be hot. Could be. A lot of Seungcheol’s projected image is from his breadth.

Then there’s the tenderness. The tiny fingers. How they’re in a constant state of reaching.

Seungkwan buries his head in his hands and groans, “F _uuuuu_ ck—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wassup fucks this was a monstrous chapter to write haha maybe I should go on the break I said I would back in [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8605972) from November.


	3. as aspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to express a wish for; to express a wish to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all thought I wouldn't get back to this, wouldn't you? I'll admit it took a long time since I had finals and vacation……… yeah… uhm I'm posting this from the office I'm doing my internship in lol please don't tell my boss
> 
> P.S. I love Jeonghan

Seungcheol’s still so sheepish about the milk in the orange juice; he bought Seungkwan a large jug of it, and Seungkwan saw it in the fridge when he opens it for the slice of cake left after he and Mingyu had lunch together. That lunch was a week ago, so the cake is kind of stale. Seungkwan also reeks of weed and wants good old-fashioned McDonald’s for dinner.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says from the dining table, notebooks and scratch papers scattered all over the surface, the glow from his laptop making him look ethereally tired. “You hungry?”

“ _So_ hungry,” Seungkwan groans through a mouthful of cake.

Seungcheol’s mouth twists at that. It’s so awkward, this first night after they come back to being friends-as-roommates from being friends-as-roommates-as-fuck-buddies. There’s a propriety that feels necessary to maintain. “How was it?” Seungcheol then asks.

“Don’t you have an exam to study for?” Seungkwan retorts.

“It’s on Tuesday, but I’m losing my mind, so distract me,” Seungcheol gripes. “Maybe if you breathe in my general direction, I can get some weed fumes.”

Seungkwan shakes his head. “No, sorry, your privilege of me breathing in your face is over, buddy.”

“I’m joking, Seungkwan.”

“Oh.” Seungkwan stands up. “I’m gonna go eat.”

“I’ll go with you,” Seungcheol says.

“Why?” Seungkwan demands, almost in a whine. “This is awkward, can’t you tell?”

“I can,” Seungcheol sighs. He closes his laptop and rubs his temples. “I’m tired, Kwannie. I’ve been studying fucking real number analysis all day without a fucking meal, so if I want to eat, I’m going to fucking eat.”

Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “Whatever. I’m eating with Jeonghan.”

 

 

It’s a little too late to start fantasising about fucking Seungcheol, about seeing him lying down and spread out, eager and open and melting. How he’d whine for Seungkwan and pull him closer. Maybe kiss him with a slack mouth. Maybe breathe a little heavily, rake his fingers across Seungkwan’s skin.

“You look sad,” Jeonghan points. Seungkwan sits up straight and fixes the pout on his mouth then goes back to his sad sushi roll, poking at it instead with his chopsticks. “I’m right,” Jeonghan says triumphantly.

“Fuck off,” Seungkwan grumbles.

“Kwannie, please, sad is Soonyoung’s thing,” Jeonghan tells him gently. “This is so unlike you.”

“I feel like I…” Missed something? Seungkwan shakes his head, and Mingyu nods at him like he understands. “Fuck this semester” is what Seungkwan ends up saying.

Jeonghan nods sagely and orders the cheapest beer on the menu. “You’re right,” he says. “A month in, and I already feel so fucking drained. And you know me—I don’t work hard, right? Not as hard as I should. I fucking believe in winging it. Yet? Still so fucking drained, like I wanna sleep for a million years.” Sad is Jeonghan’s thing, too, but maybe Jeonghan doesn’t realise it yet. 

“Anyway, Haohao’s throwing me that party next week,” Jeonghan continues while passing one of the beers to Seungkwan, “so don’t fuck it up. Be cheerful, okay?”

“You can hang with us,” Mingyu offers.

“Don’t forget my birthday gift,” Jeonghan adds. Mingyu rolls his eyes at that but rests his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Anyway, what’s wrong, Kwannie? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Since when?” Seungkwan retorts.

Jeonghan largely ignores him and muses, “Did Vernon do something?”

“Why do you think it’s Vernon?”

“Because you’ve been in love with him forever?”

“Oh.” Seungkwan frowns. “It’s not the usual dumb straight boy shit. It’s not Vernon either.”

Mingyu perks up at this and sits up, eyeing Seungkwan while he sips on his now watered down iced black coffee. Seungkwan sighs and chews on his bottom lip as he returns Mingyu’s partly judgemental stare. Something in Jeonghan’s mind must’ve clicked, but he’s not saying anything; he’s just watching Seungkwan squirm while eating the last piece of his sushi roll.

“I have to tell you something,” Seungkwan says after several moments of silence, “but you can’t tell anyone.”

Jeonghan tries to hide his smile, but it’s _right there_ , goading Seungkwan. “Do tell.”

“I… Seungcheol and I—”

“Knew it,” Jeonghan says triumphantly.

Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “I haven’t finished my sentence, asshole.”

“Try me, Boo,” Jeonghan urges.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Mingyu asks.

“We…” Seungkwan stalls, face heating up something fierce. “We were fucking.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Jeonghan ends up cooing. “And did you end up letting go of your little crush on Vernon or did Cheollie end up liking you?”

“He likes me.”

“Seungcheol?” Mingyu looks incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean _am I sure_?” Seungkwan demands. “Seungcheol’s capable of human emotion sometimes. Or what? What the fuck are you saying, Mingyu Kim?”

“Why are you like this?” Mingyu practically wails inside the cheap, barely Japanese restaurant. “Is this just your gut feeling?”

“ _He told me_ ,” Seungkwan stresses with a grit of his teeth. “He told me when we were making out.”

“Foreplay? Post-sex?” Jeonghan asks.

“Morning after.”

“ _Wow_. I wasn’t expecting this, Kwannie,” Jeonghan says with a whistle. “I’m genuinely shocked.” He picks up his beer and holds it out while Seungkwan picks up his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Seungkwan repeats numbly, the beer now a lot less cool and a lot more gross. 

“So what are you going to do?” Jeonghan asks, voice now void of all teasing. “Have you guys talked about it?”

“Yeah, and now we’re kind of…” Awkward? Not really, Seungkwan thinks; they’ve come so far to be awkward. Maybe antagonistic is the better word. “We stopped it.”

“What do you feel about it?” Mingyu asks.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t think you ended up liking him back?”

“Just because he gave me some really amazing sex?”

Jeonghan and Mingyu share a look.

“Well…” Jeonghan begins.

 

 

Seungkwan helps load a drunk and on-the-verge-of-passing-out Jieqiong inside the back of a called up Uber car while Eunwoo climbs in shotgun. He wishes he could ride with them, but they’re going all the way to the other end of the city, far, far away from where Seungkwan desperately wants to be, so he waves them good bye and sits glumly on the sidewalk until Chan finds him because he stepped out for a smoke.

“Jeonghan’s looking for you,” Chan says. “We’re playing spin the bottle.”

“What is this, high school?” Seungkwan retorts.

“You know what drinking game Wonwoo was suggesting? We pass around a piece of paper and write down a line of poetry, and whoever writes a shitty line has to take a fucking drink.”

“God.”

“He’s going to take a fucking piss out of Junhui, that’s why,” Chan grumbles. “I’m tired of their passive-aggressive lit war. They’re _both_ shitty.”

Seungkwan laughs. “Tell them, then.”

“Soonyoung will have my ass. But, yeah, Jeonghan is literally too drunk to think, so he suggested spin the bottle.”

“And he’s looking for me?”

“He wants everyone there;” Chan tells him with a shrug. “Everyone that matters.”

“ _Fine_.” Seungkwan just wants to see Mingyu kiss Soonyoung again so that Jeonghan will regret whatever shitty demonic plan he had up his sleeve, so he stands up and brushes the dirt of the sidewalk off his jeans before heading back in with Chan. 

Inside the house, the rest of them are all sitting in a circle, cups or bottles in front of them. Soonyoung passes Seungkwan a cup and makes space for Seungkwan to sit beside him.

“Me first,” Jeonghan slurs. “I’m the birthday boy,” he then says, though no one was really protesting. He spins the bottle then claps with glee when it lands on Josh, making grabby hands at him. “Joshyyyyy—”

Josh shakes his head and stands up to kneel in front of Jeonghan, who gives him a quick peck on both cheeks then on his pursed lips.

“Don’t look like you enjoy it,” Junhui complains.

“I’ll kiss you, too,” Jeonghan warns.

“Keep it.”

Mingyu next to Jeonghan picks up the bottle and spins it without much ceremony. The bottle lands on Chan, who scrambles up to get it over with quickly, before Jeonghan could take hold of himself to take photos. “This is boring,” Mingyu complains.

“Not to me,” Jeonghan replies in singsong. Unfortunately, he’s really the only one enjoying himself. Seungcheol clicks his tongue as he tales the bottle, then scowls when Jeonghan slurs, “No, no, no, Cheollie, I have a special request for you.”

“What?” Seungcheol demands, exasperated. Seungkwan feels his stomach drop, knowing exactly where this all will lead before Jeonghan even says, “I want you to kiss Kwannie.”

He’s really, truly evil, Jeonghan is.

Seungcheol blinks once, twice. Then, “No.”

“Uhm, excuse you, it’s my birthday.”

“Go to hell, Hannie.”

“Aren’t you roommates?” Jeonghan demands. “Don’t tell me you guys are fighting.”

Colour floods Seungcheol’s face at that, so palpable that even Josh understood what was happening and made moves to stand up as if he were capable of handling anything physical. Fortunately for Josh, Soonyoung gets up, too, and he’s the one with a black belt in taekwondo, ready to save the day.

“What’s going on?” Vernon asks.

“Nothing,” Seungcheol snaps.

“Touchy, are we?” Jeonghan quips.

“Kwannie, you’re not gonna say no?” Seungcheol asks. Their eyes meet, and even if they’ve been talking, been amicable somewhat since it is, after all, a really horrible academic week, Seungkwan finds himself at a loss, because… he wants to kiss Seungcheol again, even if it’s in a shitty situation like this, and the guilt of that fact makes blood rush to his face. “Kwannie.”

“I—”

God, this is humiliating; the silence speaks volumes.

“I’m gonna go home, if that’s okay.” Not that the sentiment matters when Seungcheol gets up, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants, and walks out of the living room, the sound of the door slamming loud enough to be audible through the horribly basic party music, all vibes and no melody.

“I’m going, too,” Seungkwan mumbles. Jeonghan nods and flashes him a wink, throwing his hands up into the air.

“My work here is done.”

Seungkwan runs—no, not really, he _brisk walks_ —to the front door, hoping that Seungcheol hadn’t gone far, if anywhere at all, and finds him smoking up with the other bums from their year, Jaehyun and Johnny. Jaehyun, in particular, is too far gone, sliding across the concrete with a silly, lopsided grin on his face, but it turns into a frown when he bumps into Seungkwan.

“Oh,” Jaehyun notes. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You don’t know me,” Seungkwan deadpans. “I don’t buy weed from you.”

“Well, duh, not everyone does.”

“He’s my roommate,” Seungcheol interrupts.

“Want some?” Johnny offers.

“I’m good,” Seungkwan declines.

Johnny nods. “Solid.”

This is too much, and Seungkwan is much too tired to fake to the university’s well known bums that they’re worth even a fraction of his time. He looks at Seungcheol helplessly, gaze flitting between Seungcheol’s eyes and the blunt between his fingers. “Let’s go home,” Seungkwan pleads. “Please.”

“You go,” Seungcheol says, not unkindly. “I’ll just finish this.”

“Finish it at home.”

“Are you my mother?” There, that snap. It’s back.

Seungkwan _definitely_ does not want to give the overly dramatic _Well, what do you want me to be?_ question like this, so he bites his tongue and prays for blood. He plops down on the sidewalk and crosses his arms. “ _Fine_. You wanna talk here?”

Jaehyun’s ears perk up at that, making him sit up, leaning on Johnny’s shoulder. “Is this a love quarrel?”

Seungkwan makes no point to hide that he’s staring at Jaehyun. “Uh… fuck off?”

“Can’t get up, bruh,” Jaehyun sighs. “Someone ate my shoes.”

“Who would?”

“I don’t know. Just someone.”

“Can we please go home?” Seungkwan asks Seungcheol one more time as he stands up, hand wanting to reach out for Seungcheol’s wrist to pluck the joint from his fingers and to drag him to the main road so that they could get a taxi. It stops at wanting, at least, but he’s trying his best to let Seungcheol know he’s really fucking tired, not wanting to cause a scene in front of Jaehyun Jung and Johnny fucking Seo even though he really, really could, and he could point out that no one ate Jaehyun’s shoes because he’s wearing the damn ugly hypebeast things. Whatever. Seungkwan looks at Seungcheol again. “Please?” _We need to talk_.

Seungcheol hands the blunt back to Johnny. “Okay.”

“Love is the answer,” Johnny says.

“Whatever, Liz Gilbert.” Seungkwan starts walking and doesn’t look back.

Seungcheol falls into step beside Seungkwan, hands digging into his jacket and mouth chewing on his bottom lip, teeth dragging out the bits of skin off his perennially chapped lips. “That sucked,” he says after a while of silence. They’re nearing the main road, and they can definitely hear the noise of it becoming louder as they get closer. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Wanna go somewhere?”

“Like where?”

“Starbucks?”

“It’s like four am.” Any of the nearer Starbucks close by two am at the latest, if Seungkwan’s mental rundown of those locations is accurate enough. Did Seungcheol plan on studying?

“McDonald’s, then. Anywhere.”

“You don’t wanna go home?” Seungkwan asks.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, not really. Have an exam on Monday I don’t want to think about. And I’m hungry.”

There’s not much in the area, save for some rundown dimsum restaurant looking to get rid of their last stock. Seungcheol slides into the booth and folds his arms on the table, using them as a pillow to lie down on.

“Just give us whatever you’ve got,” Seungkwan tells the staff, then sits back and crosses his arms, wanting to sleep so bad now that all he hears is quiet, some soft Chinese crooning on an old CD. “Cheol, I’m tired.”

Seungcheol grunts in response, which Seungkwan takes to mean _I’m tired, too_. Those were muffled by his arms.

“I’m really sorry,” Seungkwan continues. “This was a mess.”

It’s then that Seungcheol looks up, eyes narrowed and a frown set on his face. “You told Jeonghan.” It sounds accusing, because it is, and Seungkwan feels his skin prickle slightly at Seungcheol’s tone.

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You tell me.”

Seungkwan sighs. “Why did we even do this?” He doesn’t want to say out loud that he’s scared their friendship’s been ruined, turned irreparable, and the worst thing is that Seungkwan doesn’t even _know_ if he likes Vernon anymore. If he says any of this out loud, something will be confirmed for sure, and Seungkwan is terrified of both. “Like, really? What got into our heads?”

“We’re both lonely, I guess. And horny.”

“You?” Seungkwan seems almost incredulous. “Horny, sure, but lonely?”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue.

“Sorry. It just feels weird that you’d want it from me.”

“If it wasn’t obvious, I _liked_ having sex with you, Kwannie.”

And, of course, the dumplings chose to arrive at _this exact time_ , the waitress thankfully setting down the bamboo steamers in silence. There are shrimp dumplings, something braised, and steamed buns—Seungkwan reaches for one of the steamed buns, gingerly picking it up as to not burn his fingers, and blows on it. It’s disappointingly mediocre, but only because Seungkwan really hoped that the taste of it could take his mind off what Seungcheol had just said. Then again, the restaurant _is_ rundown, and it _is_ four-thirty in the morning.

When Seungkwan doesn’t reply, Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his face, and picks up one of the dumplings with a pair of chopsticks. “Was I not supposed to say that?” Seungcheol asks.

“No, I’m… flattered,” Seungkwan says slowly. The waitress comes back with tea that looks like dirty water and tastes like nothing. “It’s just regrettable.”

“Because of Vernon?”

“Yeah.”

Seungcheol laughs. “You _like_ me, Kwannie. Admit it.”

Seungkwan wants to smack the dumpling out of Seungcheol’s hands, but Seungcheol’s already placed it in his mouth and began to chew. “ _Shut up_ ,” Seungkwan hisses.

“It’s easier,” Seungcheol offers.

“Doesn’t mean I can will it into existence.”

“Oh, so you _don’t_ like me?”

“What are you, twelve?”

“And what does that make you?”

“Thirteen, and as someone older—”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“ _As someone older_ ,” Seungkwan stresses, “I’m here to tell you your imagination is whack and running wild.”

“Uh huh. So I just imagined all of this.”

Seungkwan’s face is beginning to hurt from the grimace it set itself into, but he can’t find it in him to school his expression into anything else; he’s stuck like this until his cheeks stop feeling they’re about to fall off from how hot they are. “Right.” He feeds himself more of the steamed bun before he he can give himself the chance to vomit out whatever little it was he ate today. “And you liking me? Wild.”

“I like how you’re actively trying to rewrite history,” Seungcheol says lightly. “It’s cute.”

“I’m cute.”

“Guess that’s why I like you.”

“Oh, god, shut up.”

“Be honest with me, Seungkwan. You don’t have to be serious, but I want you to be honest.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil—”

“I’m really not kidding.”

“ _Fin_ e.” Seungkwan focuses on eating for a while, chewing slowly, taking small sips. He needs to ask himself what it is exactly he wants to tell Seungcheol. “Okay.”

Seungcheol stops eating and looks at him like a dog being called by its owner. It’s annoyingly cute.

“I think that I… might not like Vernon as much as I used to…”

Falling short of Seungkwan’s expectations, Seungcheol leans back with his cup of gross tea and takes a sip, humming. “Noted.”

“What?” Seungkwan demands

“Tell me more.”

“I don’t know, okay? Is our friendship ruined?”

“It will be, if you let it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that…” Seungcheol’s face sours as he tries to remember the words for whatever it was he needed to say, and it wouldn’t be the first time tonight. The CD stops just as staff for the morning shift come in. New music plays, more lively and much, much louder. “God, this is really embarrassing to say, but whatever. I love you, and I respect your choices, no matter what they are. No hard feelings.”

“That’s it?”

“Do you want me to say more?”

“No, I think I’m gonna cry if you do.” And Seungkwan really can feel the tears welling up, something or the other catching in his throat. He thinks it’s his heart.

Seungcheol leans in. “Intriguing.”

“Fuck off, Seungcheol Choi.”

“So you don’t like Vernon anymore, and you’re extremely worried that our friendship is on the brink of collapse?” Seungcheol looks amused and wide awake and fuck him, honestly. “Well received and noted.”

 

 

He really is all that when he smiles, Seungcheol Choi is. He has dimples that make his cheeks look fleshy instead of gaunt and hollow, and they liven up his eyes. And six beers in, sunken into their couch, Seungkwan tells Seungcheol just that, with a finger reaching out to poke at it.

“When are you going to sleep?” Seungcheol asks.

“What time is it?”

“Seven.”

Oh god. No wonder their living room is so blindingly bright. “But I don’t feel sleepy,” Seungkwan protests, even though the feel of Seungcheol’s fingertips in his hair is lulling him, making his eyes droop and feel heavy. He still feels like vomiting, but it’s subsiding somewhat. He digs his toes into the couch.

“Sleep,” Seungcheol urges. “I need to study.”

“I’m sleeping here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Make me.”

“You know I can.”

“Ten minutes,” Seungkwan promises as he closes his eyes, the only thing playing in his head an _I love you_ that sounds like it’s clogged full of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow last chapter left yaaaay I'm really sorry for the delay but the last one should be up a bit quicker ;; sorry too if you found this entire fic boring ;;;;;;


	4. as loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> archaic; to feel the loss of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay and for the really short update ;; I didn't realise that I had mostly resolved the story in the last chapter so this is just like… a denouement of sorts. I'm also sorry that this fic was terribly boring……………
> 
> that being said. this is my good bye to the SVT ficdom. I really enjoyed my two years here, I've met friends that I know I'll be friends with for a long time, and I really think I've grown so much as a writer here. I'm grateful to everyone who's ever read my fics, especially those who've been with me since the beginning. I appreciate it all so much and I feel sad about leaving, but it's something that I feel should be done. for personal reasons, my heart just isn't with SVT anymore, and I think that you guys know that. I'm really so sorry to leave but I hope that you guys can respect my decision.
> 
> thank you so much. please enjoy! ♡

“What happened?” Chan asks Seungkwan as soon as he arrives in philosophy class. Seokmin’s busy scrawling his homework down, ears red as he quickly scans the reading for things he can write.

“What do you mean ‘what happened’?” Seungkwan demands.

“I _mean_ what’s up with that gay drama between you and Seungcheol?”

At that, Seokmin chokes on his own laughter and Seungkwan has to swallow down the urge to elbow Chan right in the stomach.

“There’s no drama.”

Chan grins. “That’s not what Yebin told me.”

Yebin, whose concealer Seungkwan borrows. Seungkwan flushes red till he’s sure the tips of his ears are burning. Thankfully, their teacher comes right before Seungkwan could make a comeback.

“So what _did_ Yebin tell you?” Seungkwan asks Chan as they pack up their things and walk out of the classroom.

“That you and Seungcheol… Yeah.”

“Is it true?” butts in Seokmin.

What _is_ true? “We’re roommates,” Seungkwan says slowly. “I honestly can’t tell you what’s true if you don’t give me some kind of statement to confirm.”

Chan walks ahead, taking Seokmin with him. “Yeah, it’s fine, Kwannie. We know.”

“Wait, so are you guys something now?”

“Aren’t you guys hungry?” Seungkwan asks. “Hey, Jieqiong's on break, too. Let’s ask her if she wants to go get waffles.”

“Dude,” Chan chides with a shake of his head.

“What?”

Seokmin frowns, his eyebrows knitting together as he turns to face Seungkwan, walking backwards and thankfully avoiding the column that was right behind him. He looks pleading with the big eyes, small mouth. He looks tender.

At seeing Seokmin’s expression, Seungkwan lets out a sigh. “We’re not. I don’t know what we are.”

Chan hums and asks, “You don’t think you fucked it up with him?”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“So you guys talked about it?”

“Yeah. We’re the same, Channie,” Seungkwan tells him. “I really fucking hate gay drama.”

 

 

“Don’t talk to me,” Jeonghan sniffs. “I hate you both.”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Have you seen Vernon?”

At that, Jeonghan drops his casually feigned disinterest and tries to wheedle information out of Seungkwan, shifting closer to him even though Seungkwan hates the smell of cigarettes. “Why?” Jeonghan asks.

“ _Because_ ,” Seungkwan says with a wrinkle of his nose as he tries to push Jeonghan away, “I need to talk to him.”

“ _Why_?”

“Why aren’t you working on your paper?”

Jeonghan sighs and flops back into his seat. “National identity is fake” is what he says. “Joshy said he’d stop by to help me out. But whatever—Vernon’s in his room.”

Seungkwan stands up and immediately feels less stuffy, brushing the crumbs of chips off his shirt. He knocks on the door into Vernon’s room and says, “Hey, it’s me. Can I talk to you for a sec?” There’s the sound of things being shuffled around before Vernon gives him the go signal.

God, Vernon’s room is gross. The thump Seungkwan heard from earlier came from the pizza box Vernon threw off his bed and onto the floor. Plus, there are discarded clothes and sheets of paper lying everywhere; it’s a wonder how Vernon gets shit done.

“Have a seat,” Vernon says, gesturing the bed.

Seungkwan sits on the edge, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He barely hears his own voice when he asks Vernon, “Was it obvious?”

“Was what obvious?”

“That I…” Seungkwan swallows. “That I liked you? That I had that huge, fucking, _embarrassing_ crush on you?”

Vernon shrugs. “I guess. Wasn’t embarrassing, though.”

“For me or for you?”

“For you,” Vernon answers. “I mean, I kinda knew a long time ago.” Before Seungkwan could ask him how, Vernon opens his mouth to confirm Seungkwan’s worst fear: “Jeonghan.”

“Motherfucker,” Seungkwan swears.

“You weren’t obvious,” Vernon offers.

“That’s great,” Seungkwan sighs, “I guess. But if you knew a long time ago…”

At that, Vernon’s face sets into a grimace and he turns his head to look Seungkwan sheepishly in the eye. “Sorry.”

Seungkwan lets out a deep breath then starts to laugh. His face burns when he realises he's crying, the laughs breaking up into sobs. “Shit,” he says while wiping his face. “I don’t even know, man. I just feel relieved.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I’m not, like, too heartbroken or anything.”

Vernon laughs, brilliant white teeth flashing. “I’m glad.” He rubs circles on Seungkwan’s back as Seungkwan struggles to wipe his own face clean. And now, without the pervading giddiness of Vernon’s touch, Seungkwan notices caution and the fact that Vernon rarely ever lingers.

But it’s fine; it’s all fine. Vernon gives him a hug after Seungkwan says he should go back home.

“What happened?” Jeonghan asks, laptop now thankfully on his lap even though he’s sipping on a can of beer as he goes through whatever’s on the screen.

“I’m going home.”

“Ooh, to fuck Seungcheol now that Vernon’s safely out of the picture?”

“Mingyu’s a saint for dating you.”

Jeonghan grins. “Don’t I know it every day of my damn life,” he says with a sigh. “I love him a lot, you know that? I’m never letting him go.”

“How do you know that?”

“Not to sound like an idiot romantic, but… You just know. God, don’t let him hear me say any of this.” Maybe Mingyu _should_ get a chance to hear these pretty words coming from Jeonghan’s mouth, but from experience, hearing them won’t change the way Mingyu feels.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Jeonghan.” Jeonghan gives him the finger while he sips on his beer. “See ya.”

 

 

“Hey,” Seungcheol greets as he gets past the door. “You’re home early.”

“Left my laptop here,” Seungkwan explains. When Seungcheol walks past him to go into his bedroom, Seungkwan follows him, leaving his laptop on the kitchen table. “Seungcheol, wait.”

“What’s up?”

What even _is_ up? Seungkwan frowns. “Vernon knew.”

Seungcheol pretends to think about it, eventually coming up with, “You know how no one ever told you you’d make a good actor?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry it probably wasn’t how you wanted it to go.”

“It could’ve been worse.”

“You mean…?”

Seungkwan follows Seungcheol further into the room, taking up the seat across the bed and wincing when it creaks. “He could’ve been grossed out by me, but he wasn’t,” Seungkwan says.

Seungcheol snorts as he lies down on the bed, leaving his stuff on the floor beside it. “He’s roommates with Jeonghan. Probably even joined them once or twice.” He laughs when Seungkwan wrinkles his nose. “Jealous?”

“I did tell you that I don’t like him anymore,” Seungkwan grumbles. “And he was cool with it, for your information.” He wants to join Seungcheol on the bed even though it’s humid and stuffy, the cold only coming in through slight breezes against the curtain.

And maybe Seungcheol senses as much because he shifts around, ends up lying on his side to face Seungkwan better. “Cool with you liking him?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Now what?”

God, if only Seungkwan knew. He stands up and takes tentative steps closer to Seungcheol, quietly lying down beside him. Seungcheol wraps an arm around his waist to keep him steady, to keep him from falling off the edge of the tiny bed. In the process, he presses Seungkwan flush against him, making Seungkwan burst into giggles.

“I’m tired,” Seungkwan admits quietly.

“You have no right to be; it’s not even midterms yet,” Seungcheol says, not unkindly.

“I’m tired,” Seungkwan insists. He buries his head into the crook of Seungcheol’s neck and like that, Seungcheol’s laugh comes out rumbling and deep, the kiss he places on Seungkwan’s forehead lovely and warm.

“Sleep,” Seungcheol says.

“It’s, what, four pm?”

“You’re refusing a free pass at sleep? Whatever, Kwannie, I’m taking a fucking nap.”

“Come on,” Seungkwan whines. “Talk to me.”

“About?”

Seungkwan closes his eyes, letting Seungcheol’s breathing in his ear calm him down enough to say, “I like you, Cheollie. Surely that means we should talk about it.”

“Tell me why.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Fine. I like you, too.” Though Seungkwan knows, the confession still sends a thrum running through his skin and he sighs—happily this time—into Seungcheol’s skin.


End file.
